Reconciliation
by Griselda Banks
Summary: Oneshot. Spoilers for season 1, set in episode 13. Matt and Foggy's friendship has been on rocky soil for a while now. Finally, they come face to face and say what they've been avoiding for too long. No pairings.


**Author's Note: This is just a short little plot bunny that wouldn't leave me alone. For all I know, a bunch of other people have already thought of doing this, and have done it much better than I have, but I couldn't find anything like this in my cursory perusal of the section here, so I'll go ahead and indulge myself :P I love the first season of Daredevil, but there's just one thing I felt was missing. I wasn't satisfied with Matt and Foggy's reconciliation after Foggy finds out who Matt is. For such a tight friendship falling apart at the seams, I wanted something more direct and clear, I guess. It's not that I don't think they would patch things up as (relatively) quickly as they do. It just felt to me like they'd skipped over a simple apology scene because the last episode of the season was so chock-full of plot and action. I'm not sure exactly where this scene would fit best—maybe sometime between their conversation in the gym and when they go talk to Detective Hoffman? I'll leave that to your imagination.**

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Matt slumped down in his chair, crossing his arms and trying not to wince at how his healing muscles pulled against the stitches. The dull throb of his wounds was like an echo of the ache in his heart as he listened to Foggy's footsteps pacing back and forth his small office.

A gulf had opened between them, an empty void where before there had always been acceptance. Understanding. A desperate desire to fill that horrible emptiness drove Matt to say weakly, "I didn't want you to get hurt."

Because he knew pain. He knew danger. And every time he sustained another bruise, every time a bullet or a knife nearly landed in a vital spot...well, at least it was him, right? He couldn't stand the thought of something like that happening to cheerful, open-hearted Foggy. Foggy, who wouldn't be able to avoid it or even see it coming.

But before he could say another word, Foggy's footsteps stomped up to him, and a fist slammed down on the desk at Matt's side. "And what about _me,_ Matt?" Foggy yelled, his voice thrumming painfully against Matt's eardrums. "Did you ever stop to think about what it's like for _me,_ worrying about you 24/7? Do you think I _like_ seeing my best friend turned into a human punching bag every time my back is turned?"

Foggy was making a point that Matt knew he was supposed to be considering, but his mind seemed to have stopped working. One phrase echoed over and over in his head, unmistakable but too good to be true: _my best friend..._

"Are..." Matt's voice died in his throat. He took a deep breath and tried again. "Are we... Am I still your best...after...after everything...?"

Foggy fell still, straightening up and looking down at him. Matt kept his head down—he didn't need to be looking at Foggy to know his stance. He just wished he knew what the expression on Foggy's face was. His heartbeat was faster than usual, but he'd been agitated ever since he'd walked through the door.

As the moment stretched on, Matt desperately wished he could take back his question, blurted out thoughtlessly in his weakened state of mind. He didn't want to hear Foggy say no, didn't want to confirm that it had simply been a slip of the tongue.

But when Foggy finally answered, it was in a tone of disbelief, as if shocked this was held in question. "Yes."

Matt could hardly breathe past the enormous lump growing in his throat. He bit the inside of his lip to keep it from trembling, then carefully asked, "Really?"

Foggy let out a tiny chuckle of disbelief. "Dude...you pissed me off, but I don't _hate_ you. You lied to me, and that's going to have consequences...but none of those consequences are you not being my friend, okay?"

Tears stung his eyes. When Foggy had stormed out of his apartment, Matt had felt his whole world crumbling to dust around him. The person who meant more to him than anyone else had wanted nothing to do with him. He'd been so sure of it. The anger in Foggy's voice, the betrayed disappointment, the _hurt..._

_How_ could Foggy not hate him? Why was he still standing here, still trying to help? How was it that he was still the bedrock of Matt's life? Matt tried to suppress the huge sob rising in his chest, but he was too weak. Too exhausted from the strain of trying to do this on his own. His shoulders trembled as he drew in a shaky gasp of breath.

"Sheesh," Foggy said, grabbing Matt by the elbows and pulling him to his feet. "You're the one who can hear if I'm lying or not, right? So don't act all surprised about it."

His voice had softened, his heart rate settling into its comfortingly familiar pace. And then Foggy let out a little breath, the way he always did when he looked at Matt and just smiled. "Come on, man," he said, a note of fond exasperation in his voice, "just hug it out, okay?"

Foggy's warm, solid presence enveloped him, invading all of his senses and blocking out the rest of the world. For a minute, he was safe from all the pressures and worries of his life. He didn't have to worry about what he was going to do about Fisk, or what would happen to Hell's Kitchen and everyone he cared about if he failed. Foggy had always had that effect on him, making him smile when he didn't think he even remembered how.

_You're a better man than I'll ever be._

"I'm still mad at you, you know," Foggy murmured, still holding him in a tight hug.

"I know, I know," Matt sniffled. "I'm sorry."

He could hear a smile in Foggy's voice. "Apology accepted."

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